


The Gang Catches the Coronavirus

by somnifero



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Charlie learns to wash his hands, F/M, Frank is the worst, Humor, M/M, The Gang Gets the Coronavirus
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-13
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:00:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23125909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somnifero/pseuds/somnifero
Summary: Frank enacts a hand sanitizer scheme, Charlie doesn't wash his hands, Mac and Dennis have a conversation about the meaning of life and also anime, and Dee becomes a social media guru.(Seriously, though, wash your hands, don't touch your face, and stay safe out there, folks! <3)
Relationships: Charlie Kelly & Dee Reynolds, Charlie Kelly & Mac McDonald & Dee Reynolds & Dennis Reynolds & Frank Reynolds, Mac McDonald & Dee Reynolds
Comments: 16
Kudos: 29





	1. The Gang Exploits a Pandemic

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is dedicated to my inability to take anything seriously.
> 
> I took a hiatus from AO3 last December; I'm back with a new account! And new fandoms! I still have the same teeth tho, if that matters. 
> 
> But seriously guys, wash your hands. Don't be a dick and hoard toilet paper like Frank, but stock up on food and necessities so you don't have to go out in the next couple weeks. This fic is absolutely not an instruction manual.

Dennis walks into the bar with a cup of coffee and a vague smirk-frown sprawled across his face. He’s a little ornery--who wouldn’t be, after the night’s sleep he had--but the usual humble deference shown to him by the Gang is certain to lift his spirits. 

“--put on gloves, you goddamn bitch--”

“ _I’m sorry, I’m sorry,_ but if anyone is going to catch the virus it’s Mr.I-Don’t-Understand-the-Basics-of-Human-Hygiene!” Dee squawks, waving her arms comically after Mac, who strains to lift what looks like a jumbo box of hand sanitizer. 

_“Hey, guys_ , so I’ve been looking in the basement and it looks like the _rats_ are starting to get into the hand sanitizer,” Charlie pokes his head out from the basement door. His tone is his wavering, squeaky ramble that he uses when stressed.

“Why the hell would the rats want hand sanitizer?”

“Who the hell cares?” asks Franked. He’s dressed in a business suit and what looks like an old-fashioned World War II-era gas mask. His voice is muffled as he waves his stubby arms. “Let ‘em eat it. It’ll kill ‘em anyway.”

“See, you’d _think_ that but _ac_ tually I think it’s mad some kind of _super rat_?” says Charlie. “They’re just chowing down on it. I think it just made ‘em stronger.”

“Charlie!” says Mac. “What the hell did we give you that rat-bashing stick for all those years ago?”

Charlie makes something like a salute to Mac and goes back to lifting boxes of Purell. 

“What the hell is going on here? We’re supposed to be open in two hours.”

The others finally-- _finally_ \--notice him and look around. 

“We’re not opening,” says Frank. “Hand sanitizer and toilet paper scheme. Everyone’s stockpiling, see, because of the virus named after that awful beer.”

“I know about the goddamn coronavirus, and Jesus, Frank, you didn’t even know the name?”

Frank shrugs. “I have Dee handling the social media side of things.” He jerks his thumb towards Dennis’s avian sister, who displays her Twitter feed. 

“Social media side?”

“Yeah, I’ve got her spreading misinformation, getting everyone all freaked out,” says Frank. “Then I’ve been buying up all the hand sanitizer and toilet paper.”

“Mac, _this_ is what you had to come in early for?” Dennis looks at Mac, somewhat betrayed. He assumed Mac had come in early to huff glue with Charlie and Frank or something and ruin one of his two remaining brain cells. 

Mac shrugs. “He’s got Fight Milk in on it now.”

“See, we’re telling all these New Age whackadoos that Fight Milk _cures_ the virus by flushing out your toxins,” says Dee, making that ridiculous grin she uses when she thinks she knows what’s going on. Which she doesn’t. Ever. “And then we’re price-gouging the bitches.” She holds up her hand for a high-five from Mac, which he doesn’t reciprocate because he’s holding a lifetime supply of sanitizer. 

“Ay-yooo!” Cricket crashes into the bar holding up what looks like several rolls of cheap toilet paper. “Stole every roll from half of Philly.” His nose is bleeding and possibly broken. Though, knowing Cricket, he could have just snorted too much of something corrosive.

“You’re stealing public toilet paper now?” asks Dennis.

“Gotta eliminate the competition,” says Frank. “Hey, Crick there buddy, got a little--” He brushes his nose, or where his nose would be if he wasn’t wearing that ridiculous gas mask. 

“Oh, yeah, a coupla the ladies got a little freaked out when they saw me, but I got it all in the end,” says Cricket. He throws a duffel full of oblong-shaped rolls on the ground. “Whatever I couldn’t stuff I tossed in the river. Or the street.”

“Guys, this is ridiculous,” says Dennis. “Frank, the last time there was a major epidemic you covered yourself in hand sanitizer and locked us all in the bathroom to die or cannibalize each other.”

“Yes, and for the record, Dennis, I would not have eaten you first,” says Mac genuinely. 

Dennis blinks. “I don’t even know _where_ to start with that statement.”

“Who would you have eaten first? Dee?” Charlie asks. 

“Nah, buddy, she’s too bony,” says Mac, clapping a hand on Charlie’s shoulder. “You’re the perfect mix of muscular and toned.”

“Aw, thanks buddy. I’d eat you first too.” 

“Jesus Christ--Frank, c’mon,” says Dennis. “This is--this is just--you have Cricket stealing toilet paper from public bathrooms!”

“Smart,” says Frank. “It’s smart.” A tall man, presumably one of Frank’s “guys”(Frank has a hand sanitizer and toilet paper guy now), hands him a wad of cash. Frank counts it and puts it in his pocket. “We’ll be fine. ‘Sides, last time none of you’s was even sick--you’re all just filthy alcoholics.”

“And we have _plenty_ of Grey Goose and Tres Agaves to keep us company,” says Dee. She pats a few crates by her side. “I’m making margaritas.”

“Dee, I’m not going to be here while you get white-girl drunk off of mojitos,” says Mac.

“While I second that, guys, we really should be taking this seriously,” says Dennis. “I read a study that said that the CDC--” 

“Ah, it’s all just a bunch of media pundits tryin’ to freak everyone out so the Purell guys get rich,” says Frank. He holds up a pack of toilet paper with several anthropomorphic bears. “I got people paying _top dollar_ for this Charmin shit right here. Top tier. Can’t find it in stores no more.”

“Look, maybe in our twenties we could have brushed this off, but come on.” Dennis spreads his arms wide. “While I have aged with unprecedented grace, even I must admit that as I approach forty--”

“Aren’t you, like, forty-three, dude?” asks Charlie. 

“-- _as I approach my fortieth year,_ I must concede that there are certain health risks for those of our cohort,” says Dennis. “That said, I have made the necessary provisions, ordered the supplies so that in the bunker we might--”

“C’mon, Dennis, will you give us a hand with these boxes?” asks Frank. “I’m making money hand over fist here. No one’s catching the Goddamn coronavirus.”


	2. The Gang Gets Quarantined (Again)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys I'm back. Looks like the situation is escalating in my area (US) so please stay safe and stay home if at all possible. Be safe out there folks <3
> 
> last night I was at work and we were talking about Tom Hanks and someone said that Danny Devito might have Covid (he doesn't) and I legitimately freaked out. I love that man.

“I need, like, four more cosmos for that table in the back over there.” Mac jerks his thumb towards a collection of seedy-looking men in the corner of the bar who are several ill-fated schemes and doses of PCP away from turning into Crickets. 

“ _Those_ guys are drinking cosmos?” Dennis asks, looking at Mac like he can’t tell if he’s bullshitting or not. 

“Yeah, no clue, man. Ornery sons of bitches, too.” Mac leans on the edge of the bar, watching Dennis make the drinks. 

“That’s probably because you’re a terrible waiter,” says Dennis. Mac makes a noise of protest, but Dennis shushes him. “No, Mac, this is nonnegotiable. Half the time you forget what they want, and the other half you feel the need to demonstrate your nonexistent karate skills for no apparent reason.”

“Hey, I’m good at karate! Ever since I got totally jacked--” Mac flexes a bicep and Dennis frowns, because he’s really tired of Mac taking his shirt off every time he gets the chance. Last Saturday people thought they were a strip club (strip bar) and Mac doesn’t need the ego boost. 

“Whatever, take these.” Dennis pushes the drinks towards Mac. “ _God,_ where the hell is Dee?”

“Last I heard she was in the back office doing something for Frank’s hand sanitizer and toilet paper scheme.”

“Oh, is that still going on?” asks Dennis. “Well, it’s her shift tonight, that goddamn bitch.”

“That goddamn bitch,” Mac agrees. “I mean, how am I supposed to do security for the bar when I’m running drinks all night? Half the people who’ve walked in here I’ve had to go retroactive ocular patdowns on--”

“Mac, for the last time will you _shut up_ about--”

“Hey, what about that guy last time with the suspicious thing on his belt with all the wires and shit!” Mac gestures with the drinks and some cranberry-flavored alcohol slops down the front of his sleeveless graphic t-shirt. “That could have been a bomb, dude!”

“Mac, the man was a diabteic,” says Dennis, leaning over the bar. “You stole his insulin pump. You’re lucky he didn’t _sue_ us.”

“But if it _was_ a bomb it would have been totally badass.” Mac clearly thinks this is the last word in the conversation, because he walks off with the half-full cocktails. 

“Mac--”

“Badass!” 

Charlie staggers up from the basement door then, leaning on the edge of the wall and panting a little. 

“Charlie, thank God,” says Dennis. “Look, buddy, I need help--”

“Hand sanitizer,” says Charlie. 

Dennis frowns. “I’m sorry?”

“Hand. Sanitizer. I need it.” Charlie is covered in dirt, various fluids, and blood in varying stages of drying. His eyes are a little crazed and he clutches his rat-bashing stick in his right hand, gesturing as he talks. 

Dennis backs up and spreads his palms out wide. While he’s glad that Charlie is taking an interest in his personal hygiene for once, he could do without the bat in his face, thank you very much. “Hey there, buddy, listen--”

“Look, Dennis,” says Charlie. His voice is soft and high. “The rats and I have come to a deal. They leave if we pay tribute. If we don’t pay tribute, they will take what they want off our corpses. Now, for the last time, _where is the GODDAMN hand sanitizer?”_

“Look, buddy, I wash my hands up here,” says Dennis. “Go talk to Frank and Dee in the back.”

Charlie looks him up and down with that same stare, then abruptly walks off. Dennis sighs and turns around to face the bar, but jumps when he sees that Mac is back.

“Two beers.”

At least it isn’t anything cranberry flavored this time. Dennis digs out the beers. 

“Do you think it's kinda weird that no one is staying home?” asks Mac. “I mean, if anything, we have a bigger crowd than usual.”

“Well see here, Mac, what we have here is just a bunch of lonely jabronis who, when faced with the possibility of quarantine in their sad, desolate little apartments or possible death due to a global pandemic--”

“Absolutely not!” Frank waves his arms and barges out of the back office. “No!”

Charlie clutches his bat in two hands. “Frank, do you _know_ how long it takes to make a peace treaty with a bunch of _goddamn rats!”_

“They ain’t payin’ shit,” says Frank. He waves his arms. “I got people payin’ out the ass for this shit. This one group in the Midwest--think they might be some kinda suicide cult, cause there’s a bunch of weird shit in their emails--”

“Will _anyone_ let me finish a point today, for the love of all that is--”

Their voices reach a sharp crescendo, interrupted only by one of the men in the back hacking out a loud cough. 

“Hey! _Hey!”_ Mac yells at the guy. “What the hell was that?”

The man, a skinny thirty-something with curly brown hair and glasses that border on obnoxious hipster, frowns. “I was just clearing my throat. This whiskey sour is the worst I’ve ever had.”

“Hey, now listen here, pal, I’m an _excellent_ bartender,” says Dennis. “You’re just trying to weasel your way out of paying, aren’t you, you little trust-fund bastard?”

“Dennis, you’re a trust-fund bastard,” says Dee.

“So are you, you goddamn bitch!” snaps Dennis. 

The man coughs again, unmistakably. 

“That’s it, get the hell out of here!” Mac grabs the guy by the collar and hauls him off. 

“Hey, let _go_ of me, I didn’t even--”

Frank has pulled on his gas mask before Mac has the guy out the door, swearing about how this is the worst restaurant he’s ever been to. The cosmo group looks over curiously. 

“Alright, you know what this means,” says Frank. 

Charlie and Dee both nod. “Code Pineapple.”

Dennis frowns. “No, I have no idea what this means, Frank, because you so _generously_ left me out of your ridiculous, half-assed hand sanitizer--

“Mac, Code Pineapple!” Frank yells. 

Mac looks over. “Oh shit, really?” He grabs a barstool and stands on top, waving his arms. “ _Everybody out!”_ he bellows. “This is not a drill! Please proceed to the nearest exit or I will be forced to remove you from the premises by force!”

Several customers look alarmed and eye each other distrustfully. They filter out anyway, looking glad to be out of the bar as Mac continues to yell louder and louder. 

“Half those people haven’t even paid their _tabs_ yet, Frank,” says Dennis. “What the hell is going on?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” asks Frank. “We’re going into quarantine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Earlier today my dad walked into my room in gloves and a face mask, flu tested me, and walked out. I hate my life.
> 
> Looks like I'll be out of school (and quarantined in my room lol) for awhile so yay lots of time to write. i had a novel i was supposed to be working on but the Gang comes first, so here we are lmao ;p if anyone has any recs, Sunny or otherwise, hmu
> 
> thanks to everyone who reads! again, stay safe and stay healthy out there, folks! (and for the love of all that is holy, don't go out to eat jfc) <3


	3. Dennis Uses the Bathroom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys if anyone has been actually following this sorry it's been awhile I've been sick (not Covid just conjunctivitis, ew). Thanks to anyone who reads/comments/kudos you help me stay a little more sane in this quarantine season!

The quarantine loses its effect when Frank starts letting people into the bar twenty minutes later.

“Frank,” says Dennis through a surgical mask and sunglasses (he refused the ancient gas mask on the grounds that it made him look like a serial killer, and the dust would be _terrible_ for his pores). “You realize this defeats the entire purpose.”

Frank looks at him like he’s a semi-conscious barnacle who just told him he had a small prick. “We’re testing people!” he says, pointing emphatically towards Mac, who is checking both IDs and temperatures.

“We serve _drinks_ here, Frank, I’m not even sure we’re allowed to be open anymore.”

“Not anymore we don’t,” says Frank. He and Charlie are struggling to erect some kind of table display. They’ve clearly worked hard on the presentation, though the table is some termite-and-possibly-dog-bitten thing and the banner…well, the banner was clearly made by Charlie. “Besides, we’re checking temperatures. Gotta be under ninety-eight-point-seven to get in here. Kinda like your age range for banging chicks.”

“I’m choosing to ignore that,” says Dennis with what little dignity he can muster.

“Hey, guys,” says Dee. She’s perched on the edge of a bar stool nursing a beer; she had to fetch it herself as Dennis refused to serve her. She’s wearing a full-body suit—it looks and smells like the one Charlie wore the last time they played this little game—and is typing frantically on her phone. “I convinced this mom group that the government is going to use this as an excuse to vaccinate their kids, so they have to make sure none of their kids get sick or they’ll round ‘em up like the Chinese are doing.”

“Really?” yells Mac from the side of the bar. He’s wearing what looks like a cross between a quarantine suit and a Mad Max-style apocalyptic outfit. Dennis is glad the guy decided to embrace his sexuality or whatever, but this is neither the time nor the place for him to experiment with subcultures. It’s obscene. “You know, the vaccine companies are just pumping that shit full of cancer germs!”

One of the customers—why the hell are they still coming?—waves at him. Mac is checking temperatures as well as IDs, and he’s waving the only thermometer in the bar around in black leather fingerless glove-adorned fist.

“Mac, how can you _say_ that without vaccines we all would have died from smallpox at least twice by now—Charlie, you and Frank would definitely be suffering from some kind of tetanus-rabies super-hybrid right about now—”

But Mac isn’t paying attention—he’s busy trying to get the woman to stick the thermometer in her mouth.

“That man _just_ used it,” says Mac.

“Which is _why_ we’re _sterilizing_ it with _alcohol_ ,” says Mac, dipping the thermometer in a cocktail. Come to think of it, it looks like one of the drinks Dennis made for those trust-fund bastards, the ones they abandoned after being herded out of the bar. Dennis wrinkles his nose.

“Hey, guys!” Ben the soldier waves at them dopily. Dennis puts his head down on the bar—well, he almost does, but then he thinks better of it. “I heard you needed help with security.”

“Yeah, c’mere,” says Dee.

“Dee, you realize this man never actually saw combat, right?” asks Dennis.

“Nice display, guys!” Ben grins at Charlie and Frank, who have finally finished setting up their display of what looks like an assortment of toilet paper, hand sanitizer, Doritos, and extra-large condoms.

“Charlie, why are there so many Doritos?” asks Frank. “They’re taking up too much of our retail space.

“You told me to get them!” Charlie exclaims.

“I said to get toilet paper and hand sanitzer. And condoms for me.”

“No, you said to get supplies for the _a-lotta-chips_ sale.”

Frank blinks.

“It’s apocalypse, dummy!” Dee shrieks. “Ben, come here!” She pulls out a bundle of army fatigues and what looks like a gun. “Look, there’s a stretcher in the alley with a dead dog in it. I need you to wheel it around town with a sheet on top.”

Ben frowns. “Why?”

“To cause a panic,” says Dee slowly.

Dennis slams his hand down on the counter. “I’m going to the bathroom.”

Half the room stares at him. That came out louder than intended.

“Anyway…”

As he leaves, Ben is climbing into the fatigues and trying to negotiate keeping his jeans shorts on and Mac is forcing a thermometer into the mouth of a man wearing American flag-themed camo.

***

They probably hear Dennis’s scream next door. They probably hear it in fucking New York.

Mac’s phone rings two seconds later. “Hey, buddy, what’s going on?”

“Not much,” says Dennis in that tone of voice that leaves little doubt that he’s about to tear someone a new one. “Put me on speakerphone, would you, pal? And bring me near the gang?”

“Sure thing, bro,” says Mac, waving the next person by before closing the VIP rope across the door. Frank got it special for this occasion—it makes him feel classy, like a bouncer at a high-end club. “Here you are, buddy.”

“Thanks,” says Dennis. Then he bellows, “Who the _fuck_ took all the _fucking_ toilet paper?” Several people peer from the door in concern. One man picks up a roll of toilet paper and Mac swats his hand away.

“Oh, yeah,” says Frank. “That was me.”

“And why, pray tell, would you do that?” asks Dennis, his voice shaking.

“’Cause that would just be givin’ away the merchandise,” say Frank. “No fancy restaurant has free appetizers in the bathroom. We charge by the square. Five bucks.”

“For a roll of toilet paper?”

“No, per square.” Frank waves at flag-camo man. “Hey, that’s thirty per roll, fifty for the Charmin shit. High-end.”

“Someone is going to get me toilet paper or I swear to God I will chop you all up into little tiny pieces and feed you to Charlie’s cats!” Dennis shrieks through the phone.

“Like, without wiping your butt though?” asks Charlie, confused.

Dennis screams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so guys, it's heating up in my area so stay safe (just as I got my college acceptance letters yay :/) 
> 
> also:
> 
> 1) as hinted in this chapter, masks aren't 100% effective, but they aren't effective at all if you don't wear eye protection as well! people can breath droplets of the virus into the air that then go into your eyes. just in case anyone wasn't aware
> 
> 2) wipe down your phones!! my parents both work in healthcare and they pointed out that if you go out, you're constantly washing your hands but in between that you're also constantly touching your phones. 
> 
> stay safe and healthy guys <3 if anyone wants to talk in the comments hmu I haven't seen anyone other than my family in DAYS jfc


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Assholes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> can the owl outside my window please shut the fuck up 
> 
> hey guys im back!! thanks to everyone who has left kudos or comments, it means a lot as I, like most of you, am stuck in my house awaiting the apocalypse (yay!) and it means a lot!
> 
> sorry if the formatting is a bit weird, I used a different app to write and it did something to the spaces.

By the time the last few hoarders have stumbled out of the bar, clutching their toilet paper and hand sanitizer and assorted containment gear to their chests and ambling out into the daylight, Dennis rounds on them. 

“What the shit was that?”

“That,” says Frank, balling up a roll of cash. “Was a good day.”

“Dude, did you see all those guys checking out my sweet intimidation techniques?” Mac asks excitedly, doing a few karate chops for effect. 

“Mac, they were probably staring at how you’re half-naked ass, Jesus Christ, dude,” Dennis admonishes him. “It’s like forty out. Now, can we please go back to being a bar?”

“Nope,” says Dee.

“Sorry?”

“Yeah, they’ve shut down all the restaurants as of tomorrow,” says Dee. 

“Oh shit, that means we can’t go to the Wawa in the morning,” says Charlie, looking at Frank. 

“It means we can’t stay open, guys, Jesus Christ,” says Dennis. “Look, if the government has decided that the situation is that severe, maybe we should just stay home.”

“We can’t skip out on a time like this,” says Frank. “I’ve made more money in the past six hours than we usually make in a week.”

“Yeah, and I like being the doorman,” says Mac. “I feel all official and shit.”

“Yeah, and I have like two-thousand followers on Instagram now,” says Dee.

“Probably because you bought them again, you attention-craving slut,” Dennis snarls. 

“Hey, that was one time and it was for a legitimate reason—”

“Dee, you bought Instagram followers?” asks Charlie. “That’s just, like, sad.” Mac and Frank nod sagely. 

“It is not—look, it was for that Ivigaron thing and if you want to get your name out into the influencer sphere—”

“Aren’t influencers supposed to be attractive?” asks Frank.

“You are a horrible father,” Dee informs him. 

“You bought followers for a pyramid scheme?”

“Why didn’t you buy me any followers I was in on that with you—”

“I mean there’s always those influencers who get the crazy plastic surgery, some people are into that— not that I know anything about that—”

“Hey, hey, hey!” Dennis yells. “All of you, focus!”

They glance at him.

“All in favor of keeping up the price gouging scheme?” asks Frank. 

Dee, Frank, Mac, and Charlie all raise their hands. 

“All opposed?”

Dennis raises his hand. 

“Motion carried,” says Frank. “Paddy’s Pub shall henceforth be known as Frankie’s Apocalypse Essentials and Whorehouse.”

“Hey, we agreed on Paddy’s Provisions!” Dee protests. “It can’t just be your name on it.”

“Sure, it can be,” says Frank. “I’m the one buying all this shit.”

“Well, I’m the face of the company!”

“Wait, guys,” says Charlie. “Who are the whores?” 

They ignore him. 

“Dee, you are not the face of the company,” says Frank. “Your job is to scare people as much as possible. You’re like our Alex Jones.”

“I mean her face is good for the, you know, nuclear fallout zombie look,” says Mac. 

Dee screeches.

“-- cause, like, if I’m a whore like I’m not sure I want that ‘cause I haven’t had sex with that many people—”

“I’ll have you know that most men find me  _ extremely  _ attractive,” says Dee. “At least an eight or nine out of ten.”

“Maybe after you’ve spiked their drinks,” Frank says. 

“— and like, a lot of the time Frank’s whores try to  _ talk  _ to him and shit and I don’t talk to anyone about romantic-type stuff except the Waitress and— ”

“Again, you are a  _ horrible  _ father,” says Dee.

“— I mean I  _ guess  _ we can make Mac the whore ‘cause no one is paying for Dee— ”

Mac looks at Charlie. “No. Ew, dude.”

“I mean you’re already gay, so you’re halfway there!”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Mac asks, looking at Charlie with clenched fists. Dennis knows that look. That’s Mac’s I’m-twenty-seconds-away-from-trying-and-failing-to-choke-you-out look. 

“I mean, just that when Frank tried to whore Dennis out last time he said that the guys were where the money’s at— ” says Charlie. 

“I mean, Dennis is already a giant whore so I think he’s the best one suited for the job,” says Dee, taking a gulp of beer and trying to appear aloof but instead sloshing lukewarm Budweiser down her chin. 

“Hey, hey, hey!” Dennis stops pretending to not hear them. “I am not going down that road again. Besides, with this virus it’s  _ completely  _ unsanitary.”

“Why? You’ve got half the diseases in the book already anyway,” says Dee. 

“And you look like you just guzzled piss, you gawky bitch,” Dennis says with all the ease of returning a casual greeting. 

“The whores ain’t here yet, bozos,” says Frank ominously. “Besides, I wouldn’t whore nones of ya’s out. You ain’t got what it takes.”

“Hey, no!” Mac protests. “You take that back, I would be an excellent whore! I’d be a better whore than any of you.”

“Uh, uh, Mac, you’re too muscular,” says Charlie. “People who pay whores want guys with my lithe figure.”

“Charlie, have you been talking to Dennis again?”

“Again, eight or nine out of ten,” says Dee taking another sloppy sip of beer. “At  _ least.”  _

Dennis, figuring that no one else is going to help him, closes down the bar himself. By the time he yells at Mac to ask if he wants a ride home or if he wants to keep arguing with the rest of the idiots until the end of the night, they look like they’re on their way to a full-fledged strip-show. Dennis considers himself a strong man, both physically and mentally, but he doesn’t think even he could withstand the trauma of watching his avian sister perform a strip tease with his best friends. 

  
  
  
  


Dennis isn’t allowed to serve drinks thanks to the authoritarian government bozos who decided to shut down a perfectly reputable business in the midst of a crisis, so he’s left manning the food station of the supply. He didn’t want to, but Frank threatened to dock his paycheck. He would have just stolen the money off of him when he wasn’t looking, but everyone is paying in card these days, not wanting to touch the money, and Dennis doesn’t feel like trying to guess Frank’s password again. 

Dee has somehow convinced half of Philadelphia that the government is hiding thousands of bodies in the landfill system, a scandal that has somehow escalated to grown men and women digging through the trash searching for evidence. He suspects this is somehow related to their customers smelling like literal shit. 

“You’d think I’d be the best whore of the bunch, don’t you, Dennis?” asks Mac, sidling over to the bar where Dennis is set up with all his supplies. 

“Sure, buddy,” says Dennis, doing inventory for the fiftieth time. 

“Like, I’ve been working really hard at the gym recently and like I’ve got that emotional intelligence shit  _ down,  _ bro.”

“Mac, first of all whores don’t need to have any emotional intelligence, they just need bleached assholes,” says Dennis, pausing his count. “And second of all, I sincerely doubt you possess  _ any  _ kind of intelligence, and if you do emotional is the least among them.”

“That’s not fair, bro,” says Mac. He leans over the bar. “I would be an excellent whore.”

“Mac, I’m sorry but you couldn’t even bang a woman you  _ paid  _ to pretend to bang you,” says Dennis. “I really don’t see you sleeping around with random people working out.”

“Well, I’d be the best pornstar, then.”

Dennis chokes. “Mac, what the  _ fuck?”  _

“I dunno, man, I’m  _ bored.”  _ Mac rolls his eyes. “Frank won’t let us leave. Won’t let us go anywhere but here and home. And there’s nothing open anyway.” He grabs a water and cracks it open, starts drinking. 

“Frank’s gonna have your ass for that.”

“Well, he can’t, ‘cause I’m not his whore yet,” says Mac. “I mean, think about it. I’m fit. I’m attractive.”   
  


“That’s debatable.”

“ _ And  _ I’m an excellent actor from all that practice shooting films and doing plays and shit,” says Mac. 

“Mac, I refuse to have this conversation with you. And, for the record, I have more experience performing on camera, so I'd be the superior pornstar.”

“Yeah, but that’s amateur and shit,” says Mac. 

“Whatever. Half the porn up these days is that Japanese animated shit, anyway,” says Dennis. “So unless you can turn yourself into a cartoon, I don’t see this career going anywhere.” He just wants out of this conversation; the idea of Mac fucking some random guy for a paycheck makes him want to puke for a list of reasons just slightly longer than a CVS receipt. 

“Goddamn liberals, ruining porn.” Mac shakes his head. 

“Don’t you have something you’re supposed to be  _ doing?”  _ asks Dennis. 

“Nah, no one else is coming in,” says Mac. “So I’m all yours.”

“Lucky me,” Dennis hisses. 

“Yeah,” says Mac, obvious. He takes another sip of water, thinks. “Do you think I should bleach my asshole then?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thats all for now--this chapter didn't actually mention the virus hardly at all but my state just got put on lockdown so i needed a break from that shit, honestly. so instead you get a discussion of bleached assholes, because honestly ive been in quarantine for three weeks and I just want to know WHY WOULD ANYONE DO THAT??? I'm not judging but I don't watch porn so I just wanna know, it sounds extremely painful
> 
> hope everyone out there stays safe and healthy!! <3
> 
> yell at me on [ my new tumblr ](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/lavender-ashes).
> 
> (unrelated, but im thinking abt writing another Sunny fic when this wraps up with a heavier angle but I need a beta--does anyone know where to find one and/or would be interested in reading a 1,000 word intro? I just need a head to bounce ideas off of lol)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlie Drugs Mac

“I’m just saying that, theoretically, I feel like I could use my superior martial arts skills to combat the virus.”

Dennis massages his temples, a difficult thing to do when driving a car, but Dennis eats cereal in his car so he’s experienced. He can feel a tension headache coming on. “Mac, you can’t karate chop a  _ germ.  _ You can’t even see a germ.”

“Yeah, but haven’t you seen those crazy videos of Bruce Lee doing shit like lighting matches with nunchucks?” 

“Of course I’ve seen those videos, Mac, Bruce Lee is a complete— to use your word— badass and perhaps the greatest martial artist of the twentieth century.  _ You  _ are not Bruce Lee.”

“Well, duh, dude, I’m American,” says Mac. 

“That’s not— ” Dennis glances over the wheel. “Not many people out today, are there?”

“Yeah, probably ‘cause of that Stay at Home thing,” says Mac, picking at a cuticle. “Look, dude, think about it. The virus travels through the air right?”

“Stay at Home— there’s a Stay at Home order?” Dennis’s eyes turn comically wide as they search Mac, who is still contemplating the effectiveness of a roundhouse kick on microscopic organisms. 

“Uh, yeah, dude, haven’t you been reading the news?” 

“Of course I haven’t been reading the news, Mac, have you seen what people like Dee are putting up on there? Half the time they’re trying to whip the nation into a frenzy and the other half they’re acting like it’s just a common cold,  _ Jesus,”  _ Dennis’s voice is high and urgent. 

Mac shrugs. Dennis pulls into the Paddy’s parking lot and parks the car absent-mindedly. He glances at his reflection, smooths down the front of his shirt. “Besides,” he preens. “The stress of the news is bad for my immune system. I need calm. I need peace. I need  _ zen.”  _

Mac is experimentally testing karate chops in the air. Dennis rolls his eyes.

“No, dude, you don’t understand,” Mac revives the conversation as they walk inside. “It’s not about karate chopping the germs. It’s about karate chopping the  _ air.”  _

“So you’ve accepted that you can’t actually land a karate chop to save your life?” asks Dennis, pushing open the door to the bar. 

“No,” says Mac. “Like, think about it. Some guy coughs at me—” He mimes a karate chop. “Bam, I push all the air and his germs back in his face.”

“Mac, it most definitely doesn’t work like that?”

“What doesn’t work like that?” asks Charlie, popping his head out from underneath the bar. At least that’s what Dennis and Mac think he asks— he has some kind of ridiculous painting mask on even though they’re not even open yet. 

“Karate-chopping the virus,” says Dennis before Mac can open his mouth and try to make it sound more reasonable. 

“Not the virus itself, dude, c’mon were you even listening?”

“No.” Dennis plucks a bottle of Everclear from the shelf. “Is it too early for this shit? Yay or nay?”

“It’s like the fucking apocalypse, man, I seriously don’t think there are any rules anymore,” Charlie says as he slides onto a barstool, or he says something like that because it’s really, really difficult to determine if what he’s saying is muffled or just normal Charlie gibberish. 

“Dude, take off the mask,” says Dennis, deciding that Charlie’s present state is enough of an answer and pouring a shot. 

Charlie looks at the two of them. “I…don’t...want to?” 

“Dude, we don’t open for another two hours,” says Mac. “Take off the goddamn mask.”

“And hey, can you talk to Frank about not making us come in at like 5 a.m.? He’s such a dick about this shit.”

Charlie glances at the two of them and hesitantly shrugs off his mask. His hesitance is quickly explained by the way his face is colored comically green, like he ate Gumbo or something. 

“Charlie, have you been huffing paint again?” asks Dennis boredly. 

“Dude, I don’t have to explain myself to you!” Charlie complains. “You’re drinking Everclear at like six in the morning!”

“That’s not the same thing as huffing paint, Charlie!” 

“You both are terrible,” says Mac. “You need to take better care of your bodies or you’ll get sick.” He folds his arms and flexes his biceps to exaggerate his point; Dennis mimes at gag. 

“Oh, look at me, I’m the  _ perfect person  _ who has time to go to the  _ gym  _ and eat  _ oatmeal  _ and doesn’t huff paint,” Charlie snaps, his voice warbling dangerously close to supersonic pitch. 

“I am in perfect control of my body, thank you very much, Mac,” Dennis sniffs. “And I’ll remind you that the other Tuesday you came back at 4am drunk and covered in piss and puke.”

“It was just glitter!” Mac protests. 

“Whatever, man, I’m going to go work on some shit in the basement.” Charlie shrugs off his barstool and disappears down to the basement.

“He’s going to go huff more paint, isn’t he?” asks Mac. 

“He’s definitely going to huff more paint,” says Dennis, downing another shot. 

Mac slides an empty shot glass towards Dennis. Dennis grins. 

“Where the fuck  _ is  _ everybody, man?” Mac slurs, leaning against Dennis’s shoulder. They’re propped up by the bar; Sweet Dee is perching on top of a booth and Tweeting, Frank is manning the desolate stand and sulking, and Charlie is nowhere to be found. “I’m  _ bored.” _

“You sound like a toddler,” Dee informs him. 

“ _ You  _ sound like a toddler,” says Dennis, who isn’t quite as drunk as Mac because he has  _ some  _ dignity and can hold his alcohol like a man, but still drunk enough that this minor insult sends him into a fit of laughter. 

“I don’t get it,” says Frank, waving his stubby arms in the air. “Where the shit is everybody?”

“Probably hiding in their homes watching that stupid Netflix documentary,” says Dee. 

“Hey, Joe Exotic is a king among men!” Mac whines. 

“He cried about the finale last night for two straight  _ hours,”  _ Dennis informs them. “It was exhausting.”

“That goddamn bitch,” says Mac. Dennis pats his shoulder, mostly to get him to stop trying to drool on his sleeve. 

Approximately three people have walked into the bar since they opened, and they’ve bought five jugs of hand sanitizer total. Dennis doesn’t know where they’re getting the hand sanitizer from anymore, because it’s not the official stuff and he’s  _ pretty  _ sure Frank just scrawled “hand sanitizer” on some old liquor bottles filled with a nebulous substance, but he’s too buzzed to check or care. 

Frank has Cricket running delivery service, but Dennis doesn’t trust the street rat to not just run off on them. At least his teeth seem better than usual, but those might be dentures. Dennis doesn’t know.

“Where the fuck is Charlie, man?” asks Mac. 

“Basement,” says Frank. “Working on a special recipe.”

“He’s huffing  _ paint,  _ Frank,” says Dennis, straightening up and shoving Mac off. 

“What’s wrong with huffing paint?” asks Frank. “Nothing wrong with huffing a little paint now and then. Plenty of people like huffing paint.”

“Man, if he gets any more brain damage he’s going to go straight vegetable,” Dee chuckles. 

Mac and Dennis exchange a glance. “So…who would do the Charlie work in that scenario?”

“I don’t give a shit,” says Frank. “Where the fuck  _ is  _ everybody, Deandra?”

“I’m trying to get people to come, but everyone’s holed up,” says Dee. “I’ll try to start a rumor that you have to take hand sanitizer baths every hour— should deplete the supply.”

“Ow,” says Mac. “That’s not good for anybody’s asshole.”

“And how the shit would you know what putting hand sanitizer up your asshole feels like?” asks Dennis. 

“Whatever, you fuckin’ bigot,” says Mac without any real venom. 

“I am not a bigot,” says Dennis. “Frank and Dee have both called you a— the f-word! I demand a sub-arbitration to determine that I am the least bigoted person in this room.”

“Yeah, but you’re kinda sexist, Dennis,” says Dee.

“I’m not sexist,  _ you’re  _ just a giant, stupid bird who hates it when men tell her the truth,” Dennis spits. 

“I dunno, the D.E.N.N.I.S. system is kinda sketchy,” Frank contemplates. 

“Frank, you literally ran a sweatshop in Vietnam! You regularly solicit prostitutes!” 

“Yeah, but I  _ pay  _ the prostitutes,” says Frank. “Motion denied.” 

Dee nods sagely.

“Whatever,” says Dennis. “One of us should go check on Charlie.”

“So go check on Charlie,” says Mac, reaching for a bottle of tequila behind Dennis. 

Dennis grabs it first and holds it above his head. “Not until you go check on Charlie.”

Mac sighs like a martyr and slumps off his stool, flipping them all the bird on the way out. 

“I mean, but hand sanitizer has  _ gotta  _ hurt like...down there, right?” asks Frank. 

“Oh, yeah definitely,” says Dennis. 

“For sure,” says Dee.

Cricket stumbles in sometime after that. “I delivered the shit,” he says. “Pay up.”

Frank hands him a square of toilet paper.

“What the shit is this? I can’t eat this!” Cricket complains. Yeah, he’s most definitely wearing dentures. Wooden ones, if Dennis can see right. Where the fuck did Cricket get a pair of wooden dentures?

“That’s white gold, right there,” says Frank. “That’s double your usual rate, anyway.”

“What’s the conversion rate of lemon to toilet paper?” asks Dee, looking up from her phone briefly. 

“I feel like five to one,” says Frank. “Wait, are we talking whole lemons or slices?”

“Ounces,” says Dee. “Gotta be scientific about it.”

“Well, then it’s probably less than that.”

“I can’t even  _ eat  _ this, guys, c’mon,” says Cricket. “At least give me a beer.”

“No. No beer. We’re out of beer.” Frank shakes his head. 

“This is a  _ bar!”  _

“We’re out of beer for customers,” says Frank. “We need our emergency supply if we have to go into quarantine or something.”

The conversation quickly escalates from there. Dennis slides off his stool right about the point where Cricket has removed his dentures and is brandishing them menacingly at Frank. Dennis really doesn’t want to deal with the two other idiots in the basement, but he sure as hell isn’t letting anything that got near Cricket’s mouth on him. 

“Mac, what the fuck are you doing down here?” he asks as he tramps down the stairs. A sweet odor hits him and he pushes open the door. “Mac?” 

Charlie looks at him like an animal caught stealing out of the garbage, or like a Charlie stealing out of a garbage, a look that Dennis is much more accustomed to. He’s stirring a large tank of sweet-smelling fluids and his face is purple now. 

“Where the hell is Mac? He was supposed to come down here?” asks Dennis, pulling his shirt over his mouth. “Also, what the fuck is that? It smells like chloroform.”

“Oh, he’s over there,” says Charlie, pointing to Mac, where he’s slumping by the wall. “He just kinda passed out. I think he’s really drunk.”

Dennis steps back, further up the stairs where the smell isn’t as strong. “What the hell are you doing?” He sees a discarded mask on the ground beside Charlie, takes two quick steps, and slips it over his head. He peers into the pot. “There’s a bunch of fucking sponges in there!”

“Yeah, man,” says Charlie. “We ran out of hand sanitizer, like, two days ago. So Frank has me making some homemade stuff.”

“So you put  _ sponges  _ in?”

“Yeah, so I was thinking like, what gets stuff clean, right?” asks Charlie. “So Frank gave me a bunch of rubbing alcohol, right?” His voice grows hazier as he talks; he’s definitely swaying, teetering from foot to foot. “So then I was like, what else? Like,  _ sponges  _ man. And bleach. Tons of bleach.” 

He holds up his hands and yeah, he’s definitely got chemical burns. Dennis stares in confusion, but with the mask on Charlie must take it for admiration, because he just keeps talking.

“And so then I was like, what else do I use to clean?  _ Bleach,  _ right— ”

“Bleach— bleach!” Dennis’s voice cracks. “Charlie, that’s how you make chloroform. You made chloroform. How are you even still standing?” 

“I didn’t make  _ chloroform,  _ man, you’re just jealous that I— ”

“Out.” Dennis shoves him towards the door by the back. “ _ Out,  _ before you give us both brain damage! _ ”  _ He glances at Mac. “Actually, grab an arm.”

Dennis is too buzzed and Charlie too high off of paint and chloroform— chloroform! — to carry him properly so they end up grabbing an arm and dragging him up the stairs. Mac is going to bitch about his back all of tomorrow, but at least he’s breathing. 

Dennis shucks off the mask so he can properly yell at Charlie. “What the  _ fuck!” _

“Hey, what are you guys doing out of the basement?” Frank demands. “You haven’t finished bottling.”

“Your little scientist over here flooded the basement with chloroform, Frank!” Dennis yells. “You’re lucky I recognized it! He could have drugged us all.”

“You been makin’ chloroform, Charlie?” Frank asks. 

“I didn’t  _ mean  _ to.” Charlie hangs his head. 

“Oh shit, how much? What if it leaks up here?” Dee shakes her head. “We do  _ not  _ wanna get caught unconscious in here, all the crazies are out.”

“First they rape us, then they take the toilet paper,” Frank nods. 

“Just turn on the air conditioning and stuff a towel under the door,” says Dennis. He leans down to look at Mac, taps him on the face. “Are you dead, man?”

“Oo, he might be,” says Dee, peering over him. “That’s fine, I’ll call Ben. He can be our security.”

“ _ Ben  _ didn’t even see combat, Dee!” Dennis waves his hands. “He’s not dead, anyway. He’s drooling, see.”

“Can dead people drool?” asks Frank.

“‘M nah  _ dea’,”  _ Mac murmurs. “Assholes.”

“Right,” says Frank. “No more homemade goods.”

Dennis and Dee both look at him.  _ “Yeah,”  _ they say with identical barbs of sarcasm dripping from the word.

Frank mutters something about calling a guy, disappears into the back office. Dennis, Dee, and Charlie look at each other, then silently go to grab three beers while Mac waxes back into consciousness. It’s not like there’s anyone else around.

Dennis is just finishing up his recollection to Dee— it’s not that he cares about what she thinks, but he feels that Charlie’s complete dumbassery must be emphasized— when Mac raises his head. 

“My head hurts.” Mac blinks, looks around. “And my back. You guys know anything about that?”

“Uh, no.”

“Nope.”

“No clue, buddy.”

“Cool.” Mac sighs. “Can you get me one of those? Thanks.”

They drink. 

“So does anyone else think it was kind of weird that Dennis knew the smell of chloroform, like, immediately?” asks Charlie. 

“Yeah,” says Mac. 

“Not really, I’ve kinda just accepted he’s been drugging people for the past thirty years of our lives.”

“Are you suggesting that I started at age twelve?” asks Dennis. 

“Yes.”

Dennis chuckles harshly. “C’mon, guys, I was a vet major. Of course I know what chloroform smells like.”

“Didn’t you graduate like twenty years ago?” asks Mac, frowning. 

“I— I don’t have to explain myself to you! Come on, this is crazy!” Dennis grins, his smile a bit too wide. “I— I’m going to go check on the basement.”

He grabs a mask and disappears without another word. The basement is still pretty bad; he’ll have Charlie rinse the mixture down a drain when the smell isn’t so potent. He turns to leave, but glances at a water bottle on the shelf; it’s a discarded sports one from some old game they attended. The ghost of the Phanatic grins at him. 

“I’m going home,” he informs the rest of them when he emerges from the stairs. “And I’ll be taking this. Mac, come on.”

Mac follows obediently. When they’re outside he frowns, tilts his head. 

“You’re not like…a serial killer, are you?”

“Mac, I  _ swear to God—” _   


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: I have taken 1 (1!) college chemistry course and know jackshit about chloroform so like...suspension of disbelief. 
> 
> I am [lavender-ashes](https://lavender-ashes.tumblr.com/) on tumblr so come yell at my bitch ass please!! I'm stuck with my family and nobody will watch IASIP with me smh
> 
> Hope everyone is safe and healthy! I'm on lockdown until the end of April at least, so looks like imma be writing a lot of Sunny fic. 
> 
> If anyone has not seen the Tiger King...sorry for your loss. Also, Mac would be Joe Exotic's fifth (?) husband, change my mind.
> 
> Stay safe, babes! <3

**Author's Note:**

> In other news I'm self-quarantined in my room so I'll have lots of time to post this. 
> 
> Comments are welcome I'm lonely and bored as fuck.
> 
> Rob McElhenney owns my fucking soul.


End file.
